Fic: Life Getting in the Way of Want (The Departed - Dignam/Costigan)
Title: Life Getting in the Way of Want
Fandom: The Departed
Pairing: Dignam/Costigan. Kind of.
Rating: R due to language
Wordcount: ~2000
Summary: He's fucked in the head but at least it's some sort of friendly touch.
A/N: Unbeta'd. Written for the 2lineschallenge. Lyrics assigned are:
I don't scratch so I won't itch
I don't reach so I won't miss - Jawbreaker
Billy shakes after he shoots his first shakedown. It'd only been in the knee, ok, the knees, but it isn't like he killed him. His shaking's a sign of cowardice and fear, or at least that's what the venomous voice in his head screams at him. That it sounds like Dignam doesn't really come as a surprise, not anymore. The sergeant's been riding him since before he began this fucked-up mission and now, two months in, he's resigned to Dignam riding him for a very long time. In his head it's like this: the sky is blue, the grass is green and Dignam's a vindictive hate-filled cocksucker.
The insult makes him laugh and the shaking stops long enough that he can pour a shot of bourbon into a tumbler and toss it back. What the disparaging thoughts about Dignam don't calm the alcohol does. His hands are steady and so he pours another drink, thrusting it into the air and toasting, "To you, Sergeant Dickwad, all for you."
Frenchie calls him after he's gotten completely fucked and Billy slurs into the phone, "Costigan."
"Get your ass down here," is the response.
"Aye, aye, captain."
"You drunk? For fuck's sake, sober up on the way, asshole." With that, Frenchie hangs up the phone.
He takes one more shot with a toast to Queenan and Dignam. Then he hops into a cab. Hopefully someone would be able to get him a ride back to his mother's house. Costello gives his orders and he's paired with Fitzy and Delahunt. They're to shake down some Russian bastard that's encroaching into their territory. With a fairly sober salute, he trails behind his partners and hops into the van. It's a smooth ride, one that he blesses Fitzy for because a rough ride surely would make him vomit up the alcohol in his stomach.
When they get there, he's three-quarters drunk and the Russian is argumentative and aggressive. His hands don't shake as he aims and shoots. It's just easier to shoot the fucker what with the way that the dickwad and his merry men open fire first. They're all dead and he doesn't care. Hell, he's lauded for taking out three of the five all on his own. Fitzy and Delahunt take him for drinks and he's even more drunk. When they drop him off at his door with a wave, he walks in and proceeds to drink the rest of the bottle of bourbon.
A foot kicks him awake in the morning. Rolling off the sofa, he comes up swinging but a combination of the headache raging and the sun sending daggers into his eyes along with the way his stomach roils, he's slow. His attacker grabs him and throws him back onto the sofa. Snarling, he leaps off the sofa again and, again, the attacker throws him back down.
"I can keep this up all day, motherfucker," Dignam says and Billy hates that voice, hates it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. "Come on, try me, can't even hold your liquor like a proper Irishman, you lace curtain motherfucker. What the shit is this stuff? Bourbon? What sort of drink is that? My mother won't even touch that shit."
Billy growls and, instead of swinging high like he's been doing, leans in low and tackles Dignam, sending them both crashing to the floor. The fucking dick laughs at the attack and Billy grabs Dignam's throat and lifts and then slams it into the floor. The laughter stops but when he goes to repeat the gesture, he's rolled over and pressed into the floor.
"Think that feels good, you little shit? I'll give you once but a second will get your ass kicked worse."
Billy finally opens his eyes and sees Dignam looking mussed. Good, he thinks, fucker's always so clean looking with his fucking tie and shirt all starched and pressed. For his own part, Billy can feel blood trickling out his nose and smell the smoke and body odor from last night. When he looks down, he can see one of the Russian's blood splattered on his t-shirt.
"Let off," Billy says as he pushes at Dignam's shoulder. He's not going to push his luck, not today, not without Queenan standing by ready to rein Dignam's insults and threats in.
"What, you don't like being under, little boy?" Dignam pushes down with his hips while slamming Billy's head into the floor. Then, cocky, smarmy, infuriating grin in place, Dignam stands up and sits on Billy's mother's chair. He leans back, kicking his feet out so the rest on the table, displacing the empty bottle and tumbler and puts his hands behind his head.
"How'd it go last night?" Dignam looks around and then cocks an eyebrow. "Not well from the amount of hoity alcohol you drank. This was all last night, wasn't it? I'd hate to hear that it only took a couple of drinks to get you drunk."
"Fuck off," Billy says to the insult and then sits on the couch.
"Funny story, I think you'll like this one. Three Irish assholes walk into a bar," Dignam pauses, cocks an eyebrow and then continues, "stop me if you've heard this one. Three Irish assholes walk into a Russian bar. After throwing around insults, they all start shooting each other and only the three Irish assholes walk out. People are saying that there was one short little cocksucker that shot three of the Russians without hesitating, shot 'em right between the eyes calm as anything."
"Yeah?" Billy doesn't look at Dignam, refuses to look because he knows that Dignam knows and it'll only give him more fuel for threats of getting prosecuted for what he's doing for Queenan.
"Want to tell me what the fuck happened that you were involved in a shooting? In public. In front of witnesses who, by the way, know what the fuck you look like. Then again, half the neighborhood and soon, half of fucking Boston's going to what with that sketch of you that's already floating around."
"Hey, they started shooting first. It wasn't like I could put up a hand and ask for a minute so I could call you or Queenan for permission to shoot back. I'm doing what you told me to do, you don't like it, go fuck yourself." Billy stands and opens the front door. "If you're done, get the fuck out of my house."
"You're not even going to offer me a cup of tea? After I've spent most of the morning cleaning up your fucking mess?" Dignam stands and walks over. "And here I was looking forward to sitting down and getting to know you. You've broken my heart."
Dignam pushes in close and his breath - coffee, cigarettes and mint scented - puffs across Billy's face. With that cocky grin, he puts his thumb and forefinger on Billy's forehead and pushes, causing Billy's head to slam into the glass of the front door. "Be more careful, I won't be cleaning up after you next time."
Billy waits until Dignam's out of earshot, sauntering down the sidewalk with fingers in his pockets, before snarling a few choice insults. He slams the door as he goes back into the house and then tosses the empty bottle into the trash before grabbing a full one. Bit of the hair of the dog, he decides.
~~*~~
They're always physical - pushing, shoving, punching. There's no friendliness in the touch but after awhile, Billy comes to crave it. He craves the way that Dignam is always touching him because it reminds him that even though Dignam might yell and threaten, he isn't going to pull his piece and shoot Billy.
He's fucked in the head over it and he's sure that it says something about his life that the friendliest touch he gets is a shove away.
~~*~~
He's been at this for six months. A year. Who knows anymore, it just keeps going and going and he's never going to get out of here. Billy's doomed to be exactly what his father abhorred about this area - a fucking goon for Costello. His father has to be rolling in his grave while his mother has to be shaking her head in such disappointment.
He pushes at Dignam, pushing the buttons that he's learned work. Dignam jumps on him, punching and swearing and Billy revels in it. At first, he lies to himself, telling himself that it'll give him a reason to walk. If Dignam's going to follow through on deleting his record, then what the fuck does he have to stay here for?
It's when his dreams twist the fight, fists not flying into faces but into hair, faces leaning in not to curse but to kiss, that he wonders exactly what the fuck he's thinking. Each time, he wakes, pops some pills and tries to go back to sleep. He refuses to think about why he shifts the bed around so that extra pillows feel like a body behind him in his drugged stupor.
When Dignam bends him backwards against the car under the bridge, Billy's dreams take over and he surges up, ready to kiss and touch, even if it gets him shot. Queenan's voice breaks through, though, and Dignam steps back, looking at Billy funny. It's almost like Dignam knows what Billy was about to do. Dignam keeps eyeing him while they're talking and he swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. When they slide into the car, Dignam's voice softens. For the first time in their history, Dignam's not argumentative or pushy. There are no threats or confrontations.
It's nice but Billy's not going to count on anything.
~~*~~
"Get up, you little fucker," wakes him as he sleeps on the sofa.
"What the fuck are you doing in my house again?" Billy asks as, bleary-eyed, he sits up.
"What the shit are you doing? You want to explain this?" Dignam tosses an empty prescription bottle at him. "Or this?" Another bottle. "Or how about this one?" Another bottle. Each one bounces off his chest, arm, forehead.
"They're all legit - " Billy starts to say but then Dignam's on him, knees on either side and one hand on his throat while the other hand pushes against his forehead.
"You're going to fucking well shut up and listen, you little cocksucker. Queenan didn't die just so you could fuck this entire mission up with your goddamn drugs. You got me? You're not going to ruin what Queenan died for just because you can't fucking well handle yourself, you cocksucking pussy." Dignam's face is so close as he berates Billy that his spit lands on Billy's face.
Billy knows he's fucked in the head now because all he wants is for Dignam to close the distance and bite his lower lip, suck it in and own him, make him feel anything but this god-awful loneliness that won't let up, won't stop giving him images of Queenan splattering on the ground right fucking in front of him.
"You got me? You fucking well got me? Knock this shit off!" Dignam pushes harder, against Billy's adam's apple and leans in even closer, hot breath puffing across him. "Knock it the fuck off. Get yourself straight and keep your head down."
Billy leans up, pushing against that choking grip, and closes the distance so that lip brushes lip. Before he can lick or suck or anything, Dignam's off him and out the door.
~~*~~
There's nothing that Dignam can do to bring Costigan back. Not a fucking thing will bring him back so that Dignam can get the fuck over his regrets though Sullivan's blood washes a bit of it away. He should've reached and fucked the results, should've fucking kissed Costigan like he'd wanted after he'd resigned, fucking life getting in the fucking way of want.
Should've.
Would've.
Could've.
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.
Fandom: The Departed
Pairing: Dignam/Costigan. Kind of.
Rating: R due to language
Wordcount: ~2000
Summary: He's fucked in the head but at least it's some sort of friendly touch.
A/N: Unbeta'd. Written for the 2lineschallenge. Lyrics assigned are:
I don't scratch so I won't itch
I don't reach so I won't miss - Jawbreaker
Billy shakes after he shoots his first shakedown. It'd only been in the knee, ok, the knees, but it isn't like he killed him. His shaking's a sign of cowardice and fear, or at least that's what the venomous voice in his head screams at him. That it sounds like Dignam doesn't really come as a surprise, not anymore. The sergeant's been riding him since before he began this fucked-up mission and now, two months in, he's resigned to Dignam riding him for a very long time. In his head it's like this: the sky is blue, the grass is green and Dignam's a vindictive hate-filled cocksucker.
The insult makes him laugh and the shaking stops long enough that he can pour a shot of bourbon into a tumbler and toss it back. What the disparaging thoughts about Dignam don't calm the alcohol does. His hands are steady and so he pours another drink, thrusting it into the air and toasting, "To you, Sergeant Dickwad, all for you."
Frenchie calls him after he's gotten completely fucked and Billy slurs into the phone, "Costigan."
"Get your ass down here," is the response.
"Aye, aye, captain."
"You drunk? For fuck's sake, sober up on the way, asshole." With that, Frenchie hangs up the phone.
He takes one more shot with a toast to Queenan and Dignam. Then he hops into a cab. Hopefully someone would be able to get him a ride back to his mother's house. Costello gives his orders and he's paired with Fitzy and Delahunt. They're to shake down some Russian bastard that's encroaching into their territory. With a fairly sober salute, he trails behind his partners and hops into the van. It's a smooth ride, one that he blesses Fitzy for because a rough ride surely would make him vomit up the alcohol in his stomach.
When they get there, he's three-quarters drunk and the Russian is argumentative and aggressive. His hands don't shake as he aims and shoots. It's just easier to shoot the fucker what with the way that the dickwad and his merry men open fire first. They're all dead and he doesn't care. Hell, he's lauded for taking out three of the five all on his own. Fitzy and Delahunt take him for drinks and he's even more drunk. When they drop him off at his door with a wave, he walks in and proceeds to drink the rest of the bottle of bourbon.
A foot kicks him awake in the morning. Rolling off the sofa, he comes up swinging but a combination of the headache raging and the sun sending daggers into his eyes along with the way his stomach roils, he's slow. His attacker grabs him and throws him back onto the sofa. Snarling, he leaps off the sofa again and, again, the attacker throws him back down.
"I can keep this up all day, motherfucker," Dignam says and Billy hates that voice, hates it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. "Come on, try me, can't even hold your liquor like a proper Irishman, you lace curtain motherfucker. What the shit is this stuff? Bourbon? What sort of drink is that? My mother won't even touch that shit."
Billy growls and, instead of swinging high like he's been doing, leans in low and tackles Dignam, sending them both crashing to the floor. The fucking dick laughs at the attack and Billy grabs Dignam's throat and lifts and then slams it into the floor. The laughter stops but when he goes to repeat the gesture, he's rolled over and pressed into the floor.
"Think that feels good, you little shit? I'll give you once but a second will get your ass kicked worse."
Billy finally opens his eyes and sees Dignam looking mussed. Good, he thinks, fucker's always so clean looking with his fucking tie and shirt all starched and pressed. For his own part, Billy can feel blood trickling out his nose and smell the smoke and body odor from last night. When he looks down, he can see one of the Russian's blood splattered on his t-shirt.
"Let off," Billy says as he pushes at Dignam's shoulder. He's not going to push his luck, not today, not without Queenan standing by ready to rein Dignam's insults and threats in.
"What, you don't like being under, little boy?" Dignam pushes down with his hips while slamming Billy's head into the floor. Then, cocky, smarmy, infuriating grin in place, Dignam stands up and sits on Billy's mother's chair. He leans back, kicking his feet out so the rest on the table, displacing the empty bottle and tumbler and puts his hands behind his head.
"How'd it go last night?" Dignam looks around and then cocks an eyebrow. "Not well from the amount of hoity alcohol you drank. This was all last night, wasn't it? I'd hate to hear that it only took a couple of drinks to get you drunk."
"Fuck off," Billy says to the insult and then sits on the couch.
"Funny story, I think you'll like this one. Three Irish assholes walk into a bar," Dignam pauses, cocks an eyebrow and then continues, "stop me if you've heard this one. Three Irish assholes walk into a Russian bar. After throwing around insults, they all start shooting each other and only the three Irish assholes walk out. People are saying that there was one short little cocksucker that shot three of the Russians without hesitating, shot 'em right between the eyes calm as anything."
"Yeah?" Billy doesn't look at Dignam, refuses to look because he knows that Dignam knows and it'll only give him more fuel for threats of getting prosecuted for what he's doing for Queenan.
"Want to tell me what the fuck happened that you were involved in a shooting? In public. In front of witnesses who, by the way, know what the fuck you look like. Then again, half the neighborhood and soon, half of fucking Boston's going to what with that sketch of you that's already floating around."
"Hey, they started shooting first. It wasn't like I could put up a hand and ask for a minute so I could call you or Queenan for permission to shoot back. I'm doing what you told me to do, you don't like it, go fuck yourself." Billy stands and opens the front door. "If you're done, get the fuck out of my house."
"You're not even going to offer me a cup of tea? After I've spent most of the morning cleaning up your fucking mess?" Dignam stands and walks over. "And here I was looking forward to sitting down and getting to know you. You've broken my heart."
Dignam pushes in close and his breath - coffee, cigarettes and mint scented - puffs across Billy's face. With that cocky grin, he puts his thumb and forefinger on Billy's forehead and pushes, causing Billy's head to slam into the glass of the front door. "Be more careful, I won't be cleaning up after you next time."
Billy waits until Dignam's out of earshot, sauntering down the sidewalk with fingers in his pockets, before snarling a few choice insults. He slams the door as he goes back into the house and then tosses the empty bottle into the trash before grabbing a full one. Bit of the hair of the dog, he decides.
~~*~~
They're always physical - pushing, shoving, punching. There's no friendliness in the touch but after awhile, Billy comes to crave it. He craves the way that Dignam is always touching him because it reminds him that even though Dignam might yell and threaten, he isn't going to pull his piece and shoot Billy.
He's fucked in the head over it and he's sure that it says something about his life that the friendliest touch he gets is a shove away.
~~*~~
He's been at this for six months. A year. Who knows anymore, it just keeps going and going and he's never going to get out of here. Billy's doomed to be exactly what his father abhorred about this area - a fucking goon for Costello. His father has to be rolling in his grave while his mother has to be shaking her head in such disappointment.
He pushes at Dignam, pushing the buttons that he's learned work. Dignam jumps on him, punching and swearing and Billy revels in it. At first, he lies to himself, telling himself that it'll give him a reason to walk. If Dignam's going to follow through on deleting his record, then what the fuck does he have to stay here for?
It's when his dreams twist the fight, fists not flying into faces but into hair, faces leaning in not to curse but to kiss, that he wonders exactly what the fuck he's thinking. Each time, he wakes, pops some pills and tries to go back to sleep. He refuses to think about why he shifts the bed around so that extra pillows feel like a body behind him in his drugged stupor.
When Dignam bends him backwards against the car under the bridge, Billy's dreams take over and he surges up, ready to kiss and touch, even if it gets him shot. Queenan's voice breaks through, though, and Dignam steps back, looking at Billy funny. It's almost like Dignam knows what Billy was about to do. Dignam keeps eyeing him while they're talking and he swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. When they slide into the car, Dignam's voice softens. For the first time in their history, Dignam's not argumentative or pushy. There are no threats or confrontations.
It's nice but Billy's not going to count on anything.
~~*~~
"Get up, you little fucker," wakes him as he sleeps on the sofa.
"What the fuck are you doing in my house again?" Billy asks as, bleary-eyed, he sits up.
"What the shit are you doing? You want to explain this?" Dignam tosses an empty prescription bottle at him. "Or this?" Another bottle. "Or how about this one?" Another bottle. Each one bounces off his chest, arm, forehead.
"They're all legit - " Billy starts to say but then Dignam's on him, knees on either side and one hand on his throat while the other hand pushes against his forehead.
"You're going to fucking well shut up and listen, you little cocksucker. Queenan didn't die just so you could fuck this entire mission up with your goddamn drugs. You got me? You're not going to ruin what Queenan died for just because you can't fucking well handle yourself, you cocksucking pussy." Dignam's face is so close as he berates Billy that his spit lands on Billy's face.
Billy knows he's fucked in the head now because all he wants is for Dignam to close the distance and bite his lower lip, suck it in and own him, make him feel anything but this god-awful loneliness that won't let up, won't stop giving him images of Queenan splattering on the ground right fucking in front of him.
"You got me? You fucking well got me? Knock this shit off!" Dignam pushes harder, against Billy's adam's apple and leans in even closer, hot breath puffing across him. "Knock it the fuck off. Get yourself straight and keep your head down."
Billy leans up, pushing against that choking grip, and closes the distance so that lip brushes lip. Before he can lick or suck or anything, Dignam's off him and out the door.
~~*~~
There's nothing that Dignam can do to bring Costigan back. Not a fucking thing will bring him back so that Dignam can get the fuck over his regrets though Sullivan's blood washes a bit of it away. He should've reached and fucked the results, should've fucking kissed Costigan like he'd wanted after he'd resigned, fucking life getting in the fucking way of want.
Should've.
Would've.
Could've.
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.